Fireside reflection one winter evening

I am sewing. I wonder whether it will

be of some comfort to know years hence.

The hours spent by the stove till

this record is shepherded towards present tense.

 

First a sweatshirt, then a blanket to pullover

the broadening shoulders by the fire side.

Each stitch a tie that pricks our regret over

a loosening grip; each badge a source of pride.

 

And tomorrow’s tomorrow, will they see

the same pangs or remain blind in slumber

– just as their forebears be –

until loss and longing fuels their hunger.

 

 

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